


All These Pieces Torn Apart (You Just Left Behind)

by Rynegade (cherrymartini)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hell, M/M, dreamscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:01:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrymartini/pseuds/Rynegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wanted so badly to close his eyes and let that warmth wash over him, lose himself for awhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Pieces Torn Apart (You Just Left Behind)

**Author's Note:**

> Set at an interminate place in S5, flashbacks to hell, somewhat graphic styalised violence, gratuitous comma usage.  
> Written in acrostic, with a paragraph per letter. It's alot darker and more dreamscape than I had planned. As a long time lurker this is my first adventure into writing the loveliness of dean/castiel, I'm really quite excited.  
> Partially inspired by easy_to_corrupt 's fanmix Tears Of An Angel  
> Title taken from Red - Mystery Of You

C heap cotton scraped against Dean's stubble as he shifted in the lumpy motel bed, listening to the steady stream of white noise as cars sped along the wet street outside, headlights catching in the rain on the window bathing the generic room in a brief glow of fractured light. Sleep teased at the corners of his mind, fuzzy and inviting, and Dean wanted so badly to close his eyes and let that warmth wash over him, lose himself for awhile after the fight tonight. The sun was peeking over the horizon, streaking the sky with its soft hues of lemon and candyfloss; turning the room a warm shade of burnt amber but closing his eyes Dean was flooded in another light, arctic white and too bright with barely leashed power spilling from a form that should be too small to contain even the thought of it.

 

A lmost, the word whispers quiet in his skull, sending tendrils of cold snaking down his back, across his skin. It had been so close, too close and Dean flinched away from just how close they’d come to losing, how close he’d come to losing... He forced the thought away, turning to face the other bed, watching the blankets rise and fall with Sam’s steady breathing and tried to slow his to match. Tried not to see the image of Sam crumpled and bloody on the floor of the warehouse superimposing itself over his brother’s sleeping form. Tried not to picture how his face had gone tight with pain brought out in sharp relief by the pure white saturating Dean’s vision, blinding him, forcing him to turn away. Tried not to hear the demons callous laugh mingle with Sam’s soft snores.

 

S ave the world? It had taunted. You can’t even save yourself Angel. It had spat the last word like an expletive and then laughed, laughed like he knew how close he was to fallen. Laughed like he knew how it was all going to end, luxuriating in shadowed prophecy of crimson rivers weaving through cracks in the scorched earth, curling around the carnage like a lover’s embrace. He screamed and Dean felt blood trickle from his ears, tiny rivulets waiting to join the promised landscape.

 

T he words clawed at Dean’s stomach, clenching into tight fists around his heart. Pictures of a world painted by the conviction in the demons eyes played in glorious technicolour against his eyelids like the dawn showing of a silent film. The air in his lungs turned stale, captive behind his clenched teeth and his chest burned as the bloodbath faded hazy and dark around the edges and Dean’s world dimmed to black as he remembered with stunning clarity, exactly how it felt to die. His memory plummeting into the pit, feeling his skin char and crack, flesh melting from his bones, ribs flaking apart, his mind disconnecting, reshaping in his one moment of blissful numb before he was forced into new awareness to find himself screaming on the rack, intact and ready to again be flayed apart. 

 

I ncorporeal blades dragged across his skin as Dean fought to force himself back into the quiet reality of the dawn lit motel room, breathing in the faint smell of industrial cleaner and mildew. Exhaustion clouded his resolve and the terror seemed to catch in the empty spaces at the edges of his vision, raising the hair on his neck and sneaking up to wrap around him like cold, wet sheets, clinging to his skin, making his movements stilted and graceless. Shadows danced across the walls in the toffee gold light, sculpting themselves into phantoms, reaching for him with twisting, grasping fingers, beckoning him back down into the darkness.

 

E mancipated fingers had reached for the blade that first time, flesh barely clinging to bone as he closed his grip around the handle and something small and dying deep in his subconscious screamed No. Easily drowned out by the agonised screams of the ruined soul stretched before him, choking on the bitter taste of its own liver as it begged for mercy from the focused, bloody intent threatening to incinerate it from the inside out. Mercy. The word twisted itself around his concentration, his tongue trying to shape syllables long forgotten and his lips curved into a chilling parody of a smile, mercy had no place beneath his knife.

 

L ight, pure and bright, hit like a tidal wave, drenching him and he recoiled, curling in on himself to escape the flood. Eyes clenched shut as it wove itself into the incisions in his soul, soothing and scorching and he fought. Slashing blindly as a voice like an impending storm whispered promises of redemption, he dropped the knife and threw himself into the light, bare hands clawing his way in, ripping his way back out. Screaming, feral and fierce, as he tore strips away, letting them fall to litter the ground like stars on a clear night and still he met no resistance. The light wrapped itself around him as he roared wordless battle cries, trying desperately to drown the steady stream of everything he’d cast behind, trying to force away the offer of salvation, Dean it whispered. That was his name, he remembered that now, Dean, open your eyes. Hope winding into him for what felt like the first time, he dropped his fists and raised his head, eyes slowly opening to blink away the morning light streaming in through the crack in the curtains, focusing on the figure standing in front of him.

 

"Castiel"

.


End file.
